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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27171577">The Shape of the Beast</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Papillonae/pseuds/Papillonae'>Papillonae</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Hetaween 2020 [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Animal Death, Arranged Marriage, Blood and Gore, Found Family, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Unrequited Love, Werewolves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:36:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,693</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27171577</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Papillonae/pseuds/Papillonae</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Supernatural Hunter AU. Every year, the freelance hunter Basch returns to the village to hunt the beasts of the surrounding wood, all while coming to terms with the changes each time he arrives. After adopting a young lycan as family, he must learn how such beasts can live and come to terms with the shape of the beast he has become.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Austria &amp; Hungary (Hetalia), Liechtenstein &amp; Switzerland (Hetalia)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Hetaween 2020 [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1978132</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Shape of the Beast</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The howling rose twice the previous evening. The air that night had been thick with fog that choked the trees. The heaviness of the afternoon rain still lingered like a ghost. Even in the peaceful murmur of the nearby stream, where the gentle hooting of the owl accompanied the cricket song of the woods, the wolf’s cries had pierced the air with something somber and lonesome.</p><p>Basch felt it keenly as he lay in his cot, a silvery moonbeam filling his cabin with a light blue haze. He had heard it several nights in a row, all seemingly from the same creature – a cry of fear, a cry of warning. He had suspected that the sound was decidedly not from a wolf, nor any natural beast: in fact, it was seemingly coming from something far more dangerous.</p><p>He laid there for most of the night with anticipation buzzing beneath his skin: the itching of his fingertips, the painful burning of his legs ready to jump into action. Before the hunt, he was always restless. Yet something about this howling seemed to call to him and him alone.</p><p>
  <em> One need only remember four ways to kill a beast: silver, fire, the heart, the head. Silver daggers and silver bullets would handle most anything. Fire was easy enough to lure the beast into. Finally, for assurance, the heart must be pierced and the head must be removed. </em>
</p><p>These are the basic tenets of combat taught to the hunters of the Hunters Guild. Survival was crucial. Basch had no intention of giving up the ghost without first laying waste to the beasts or the monsters who would will it so.</p><p>When the morning came, Basch layered himself in leathers and furs, tucked hunting knives into his belts and boots, and slung his rifle behind him. The woods teamed with other hunters, and with plenty of game, the competition was less than kind. It was more for his protection than for recreation.</p><p>Next, he prepared his cart with the hides and skins he had spent the past few moons tanning, the morning dew brushing coldly against his ankles as he went about securing his wares. Every year he would bring rare game with him to trade for supplies: bullets, crossbow bolts, medicines, salves. This year, he would bring extra venison meat to the church, feeding the poor and orphaned in exchange for vials of holy water and hardtack.</p><p>Finally, he hitched the cart up to his horse, mounted it, and slowly made his way down the uneven path to the village below.</p><hr/><p>Every return to the village filled Basch with unease. He had lived here not too long ago himself as a young orphan with a few good friends. Sure, he had gotten himself into fights and scrapes with the other neighborhood boys, but it had otherwise been an ordinary life. When rumors of beasts and demons coming down from the woods began to circulate, the village began to suspect every outsider within their borders for leading them here.</p><p>Without a second thought, they turned on him.</p><p><em>It's his eyes!</em> <em>He has the eyes of a beast! He must be the son of a beast!</em></p><p>Basch had always felt the scorn of the village’s eyes on him. The women hurried fearfully past him. The men looked down on him with contempt. The children he once fought in the streets were now kicking him to the ground, and he dared not fight back for fear that the whispers of his beastly nature were true. He could not bring himself to look at them, and looked only at the ground and his feet as he walked through the village. He dared not raise his head to the sky, nor to feel the sun on his face. His beastly eyes were to blame, and they had certainly convinced him he did not deserve such splendorous sights as the light of day.</p><p>When he could no longer bear it, before they might think to lock him away, he left the village to live in the woods. If he were truly what brought the beasts to the village, then perhaps that was where he would belong. And, if he were to be rejected, then he would be devoured.</p><p>There were no goodbyes, no tearful regrets. He plunged himself fully into the heart of the wilderness with every hope that it would rip him apart.</p><p>Though every part of him ached for death, somehow the natural instinct to survive gnawed more painfully at his will.</p><p>Now Basch only returns to sell furs and game. He takes up marks from the Hunter’s Guild as a freelance hunter, willfully slaying the beasts he was once accused of becoming. He no longer feels the villagers’ contempt as he used to. In fact, some even praise him as a hero.</p><p>In a way, he had hoped it would help him atone.</p><hr/><p>The stubborn grey of the clouds barely filtered the sunlight through. The villagers that milled around the main path seemed to go about their business a little more slowly. As Basch rode in with his cart of goods they all seemed to hold fast to themselves, as if gripped with fear before realizing he was just a traveler. Just what had everyone so on edge? He heard whispers of animals and of beasts: wolves and bears, lycanthropes and other blood-drinking, child-stealing monsters thought to only be legends. Basch had heard their strange cries from deep in the forests. He remembered the wolf howl from this morning: unnatural in its sorrow and its range. </p><p>It was born of a cruel joke at the expense of the superstitious villagers that the Hunters Guild posted marks and offered bounties and rewards for anyone – hunter or otherwise – who could slay a fabled demon or a legendary beast and bring back its carcass as proof of the encounter. Unsurprisingly, none have been successful.</p><p>Presently, Basch tied up his horse outside the tavern and wheeled his cart over to the market square, only to find that he had been expected.</p><p>A man his age stood ready at his empty stall, dressed smartly in a waistcoat and trousers. His hair had been slicked back and parted to one side, though despite his efforts, one strand had been blown wildly out of order. He adjusted his spectacles and raised his chin in acknowledgment.</p><p>Recognition brought a scowl to Basch’s face.</p><p>“Roderich.” The name was like a curse and he enunciated the last syllable as such.</p><p>Roderich adjusted his shirt cuffs and passively examined Basch from head to toe, raising a brow at his attire. “Basch. You look well.”</p><p>“Stow it,” Basch sighed as he unpacked, “what does the Guild want from me this time?”</p><p>“I am not coming to you on matters related to the Guild.”</p><p>Basch carefully hung the furs and the pheasants along the top of his stall. <em> Interesting </em>. “Then I suppose this is a personal matter?”</p><p>“I need you to find someone.” There was an urgency in Roderich’s voice that begged attention. He produced a shorn-off braid of light-blonde hair, tied in place with a blue ribbon, and threw it on the stall before Basch could prepare his wares. The sight of it caught him off guard.</p><p>“Her name is Elise.” Roderich spoke plainly. “She is a maid in my household. I am certain this is her hair. She has been missing for two moons now.”</p><p>Basch examined the braid, and felt the back of his neck prickle in familiarity. Only a few years prior, it might as well have been his own.</p><p>Roderich continued. “It is of utmost importance that she be returned unharmed. You see, she is my fiancée’s most trusted attendant, and she is needed for the coming year when we are to be wed.”</p><p>Upon mention of Roderich’s fiancée, Basch clutched the braided hair a little tighter.</p><p>“…You’re to be married?” he asked tensely. He hadn’t bothered to meet him in the eye.</p><p>“Y-yes… but that is not important.” Roderich cleared his throat. “I fear that something awful has happened to her. She means a great deal to Erzsi, and I cannot rest until I know she is safe.”</p><p>Basch clicked his tongue in his cheek and offered the braid back. “You should find an official Guild hunter for this. There are plenty of trackers who are more readily equipped—”</p><p>“—With the way the village speaks of lycans and devils, I cannot ask this of the Guild when they themselves refuse to take our pains seriously. It has to be you. <em> Please.</em>”</p><p>When Basch turned his attention back to Roderich, he saw how remarkably vulnerable he was: pallid skin, dark circles which indicated how little he slept... was he always this thin? Strangely, this expression seemed nostalgic in a way. Roderich had always fretted and worried. This time, however, there was something sadder and far more desperate in the way he pleaded for help – as if he had lost something important.</p><p>It was subtle, the softening of Basch’s face. He tied the braided hair around his belt.</p><p>“Where did you last see her?”</p><p>Roderich ran a nervous hand through his hair. In spite of this, it would not lay any flatter. “She was in the barn behind our home. Penning our goats. You… ought to come see the state it is in for yourself.”</p><hr/><p>When the market had closed at the first red clouds of dusk, Basch found himself outside the House of Edelstein, rapping his knuckles against the door. He spared an eyeroll for himself as he pondered what on Earth he had gotten himself involved in. The chattering of the night bugs, the early hooting of the owl, were the only response.</p><p>The door opened with a creak, and Roderich gave a cursory glance over Basch’s shoulder before inviting him inside.</p><p>Warmth radiated from the hearth and cast flickering shadows along the walls. A woman sat at a stool in front of it, her long chestnut curls covering her shoulders like a shawl. She turned her attention to Basch as he stepped inside, visibly relieved. Basch inclined her head toward her, taking note of her surprising beauty and of her dirt-smudged apron.</p><p>“You are the hunter?” she asked.</p><p>“Yes,” Roderich interrupted, and gestured toward him. “Erzsi, this is Basch. We grew up together in this town before he left for the Hunter’s Guild.”</p><p>She smiled at Basch and stood, flattening out her skirts.  “You may call me Erzsébet. So glad to meet a friend of Roddy’s—”</p><p>“Just show me where she was taken.”</p><p>It was getting dark, and time was of the essence. But Erzsébet had taken this interruption as a grave disrespect. She balled her fists against her sides and took a deep breath through her nose. Roderich had stepped cautiously away from the conversation.</p><p>“…Fine then. You may come with me.”</p><p>Basch frowned in confusion. “With you?”</p><p>Before he could retort further, she began to lead him by the wrist and was guiding him carefully out the back door toward the barn. He looked back at Roderich, who was pinching the bridge of his nose and retreating further into the house for what was hopefully a moment of respite.</p><p>Once they were out of earshot and Roderich could no longer be seen, Basch suddenly felt the world rush around him as Erzsébet whirled him around the corner and pinned him to the side of the house. The strength of the motion pushed the air from Basch’s lungs. He was forced then to look her in her furious eyes as she pressed against him, gripping his collar.</p><p>“Listen well, hunter. Just because Roderich holds you in high regard does not mean you can act as you please. You should know that his constitutions for these things are weak. Show some respect.”</p><p>He wheezed for air. “At least that much hasn’t changed with him." As Erzsébet released him, he straightened out his collar. "And you? Are yours stronger?”</p><p>Erzsébet scoffed. “I was the one who saw it first. He took one look at the broken wall and felt faint.”</p><p>Basch looked over at the barn where their livestock was kept. It wasn't a grand structure, only big enough for smaller animals like chickens, sheep, and goats. Truly, there had been a generous chunk of wood and stone torn from the side of it, but otherwise it remained intact. He followed Erzsébet into the barn, crossing through the dry grass between in silence.</p><p>At the threshold, he was immediately hit with a very familiar smell. <em> Blood </em>. It had been painted all along the walls and stained the nearby bales of straw and barrels, all haphazard splatters and smatterings of gore which led to the open wall.</p><p>“I did not take him inside with me to see this,” she continued, stepping over various animal droppings and piles of straw, “but I did move some of the carcasses. Maybe that might help?”</p><p>In the farthest pen, where Erzsébet had gestured, Basch could see the lifeless, bloodied body of a white goat, and what could only be best described as the remaining limbs and innards of those that were well and already devoured. As he approached the pen for a cursory examination, he noticed she had followed him and was presently watching as he knelt beside the goat. His hand traced the edge around the animal’s throat which had been torn out, feeling for teeth marks and bite patterns. He looked to the swollen gut where something had been feeding on the innards, having ripped the intestines to shreds and taken chunks of the liver and stomach.</p><p>“You aren’t friends then, you and Roddy.” Erzsébet folded her arms on the pen door, watching him work and attempting conversation to break the silence.</p><p>Basch shrugged as he searched the goat for any other signs of trauma. “No. Not really.” He hoisted himself up from off the barn floor. “And you are to be married.”</p><p>“Not that it was our choice. Roddy’s involvement in diplomacy between the common folk and the Guilds attracted new wealth. My family is from old nobility. They found out about Roddy being an eligible bachelor, and it was like moths to a flame."</p><p>She stepped off the railing, unwrapping the apron from her waist, and gave it to Basch to clean the blood from his hands.</p><p>He raised a brow at her. “You don't sound happy with the arrangement.”</p><p>“Roderich is a great man. This arrangement will save my family from the poor house while also bolstering his social standing.” Her answer was tense, yet rehearsed. “Though love had nothing to do with the circumstances, I would truly, gladly care for him as my husband.”</p><p>Basch folded her newly soiled apron and left it to hang over the gate. His gaze pierced through her. “I'm not convinced you would.”</p><p>Erzsébet clenched her jaw and averted his eyes. Before she could think of any retort, she noticed a dark, glistening shape on the ground, and found herself kneeling to get a closer look. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Basch had followed where her eyes fell and was staring, too, at the first of several large, bloody sets of paw prints leading out in large spaces toward the open wall.</p><p>He had seen these tracks before, but never the beast that made them. But tonight he would.</p><p>The anticipation of the hunt began to thrum in his heart.</p><p>“You need to stay at home once the moon rises,” he instructed her after a small silence. “Go to the apothecary. You will need to hang wolf’s bane above the threshold of the barn and of your home. Do you own anything silver?”</p><p>Erzsébet nodded dumbly.</p><p>"Good. You'll need it."</p><p>He made to leave through the open wall with a purposeful walk, and the sudden outburst caught Erzsébet off guard. She chased after him. “So that’s it, then? You’re not going to explain what's going on?”</p><p>“Unless you want to hunt the lycan yourself, Lady Erzsébet, then I suggest you do what I say.” </p><p>Basch gave her a hard look when she stopped pursuing him. She had returned a look of her own. For a moment, standing among the blood and the wreckage, she might have also felt it too - the thrill of the hunt. He seemed impressed with her resolve.</p><p>“You would care for him as your husband? Then go now to an apothecary. Wolf’s bane. Silver. And let me handle the rest.</p><hr/><p>Lycanthropy was long misunderstood in the villages surrounding the mountain forests. Though the organization itself never took the alleged sightings of its villagers seriously, the Hunter’s Guild at the very least possessed exponential knowledge of the condition. One might become a werewolf unwillingly through a curse, a demonic possession, or a bite from another lycanthrope. Some are born into lycanthropy. In other occurrences, though very rare, one might embrace it either by wearing a wolfskin belt, using a magic salve, drinking rainwater from the pawprint of a wolf, sleeping outside on a Wednesday or Friday night with a full moon in the summer…</p><p>Well, no one had said the information was consistent.</p><p>Basch recalled the arsenal he’d brought with him for tonight's hunt: silver bullets for his rifle, silver-tipped crossbow bolts, a vial of holy water. He was carrying wolf’s bane in his pocket and wore a silver crucifix for good measure.</p><p>
  <em> Silver, fire, the heart, the head. </em>
</p><p>Still, it didn’t feel right to have all this.</p><p>He stared into the embers of the campfire, and thought long and hard about the lycan he had heard the night before. They were intelligent - they were still human under the fur and the teeth, after all - and surely retained that humanity. If there was a way to appeal to that… well, he would have to try.</p><p>The moon was beginning to rise above the silhouettes of the pines, a full milk-white on a sky of black. In a few more hours, he would hear the cry and track the beast from there. Basch presently squelched the campfire and, with one last cursory glance over his shoulder, crawled into his tent for a short rest.</p><hr/><p>Basch awoke to the panicked bleating of a goat, the visceral sound of flesh being ripped apart. He flew from his tent without a moment's hesitation, taking the lantern in his hand, while the other instinctively gripped the handle of his rifle. In the darkness, he could not see exactly what scene lay before him, though the lamplight highlighted the particular river of blood which flowed down the clearing path toward him. He knelt and dipped his fingers in, brought it to his nose. The scent was unmistakable. </p><p>Not too far off, he heard the wet and hungry crunch of bone and, in the faintest glow of the moon, he watched a creature's breathing heave as it devoured what remained of another goat. The sound of grinding between sharp teeth, accompanied by the grunts of a desperate effort to feed, filled the air. It paused to let loose a sorrowful howl into the night, a sound that shook Basch to the core.</p><p>
  <em> The lycan from last night. </em>
</p><p>He hooked the lantern to his belt and took his rifle in both itching hands. As he crouched down and approached the beast, a twig snapped beneath his feet. The lycan immediately fled away from its half-eaten meal, scampering less than a few feet away. Its eyes cast an eerie yellow glow in the dark and Basch could hear a sharp snarl erupt from its maw. Its teeth were still dark and glistening red with the goat's blood as it barked a fatal warning.</p><p>Basch did his best to remain small.</p><p>Face to face with the giant beast he had been compelled to hunt, he had felt only the faintest hint of fear. His heart hammered in his head. He hesitated, kept his eyes locked with the lycan. To any hunter, the sight of its fangs might have been taken as a sign of aggression or a challenge. He steadily slowed his breathing. It was clear that this creature was not about to back down from its meal, nor from its place in the woods just outside of town.</p><p>Then Basch saw something else. It was a subtle flicker in the beast's eyes, the way its giant paws stood firmly at the spot where it came to rest, and the way it hunched itself away from the clearing. In that moment, there was something mirrored in its eyes that Basch came to understand.</p><p>He slowly unwrapped the sling of his rifle from around his shoulder and carefully placed it on the ground before him.</p><p>The lycan's growling stopped when it saw how Basch backed down, unhooking the lantern from his belt and placing it on the ground. It lowered itself further. Instead of pouncing upon its new prey, it spoke in a low growling voice that was neither human nor animal:</p><p>
  <b> <em>FOOLISH MORTAL. ARE YOU NOT A HUNTER? YOU CAME FOR THE HUNT, TO KILL THE MONSTER, THE BEAST OF THE WOODS, AND YET YOU THROW AWAY YOUR WEAPON.</em> </b>
</p><p>"I came to kill a monster," he said firmly, "but I do not see one before me."</p><p>It laughed, an unearthly bellow that rustled the leaves of the trees.</p><p>
  <b> <em>HAS THE NIGHT DULLED YOUR SENSES? CAN YOU NOT GRASP THE SHAPE OF THE BEAST BEFORE YOU? IF NOT, THEN YOU ARE A FOOL. I WILL NOT HESITATE TO TEAR OUT YOUR THROAT AND CONSUME YOU, FLESH AND BONE.</em> </b>
</p><p>Basch shook his head. "But you won't."</p><p>
  <b> <em>WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I WON’T?</em> </b>
</p><p>With his palms empty, Basch reached out to the beast. The gesture made the lycan snap its jaws.</p><p>"If you truly wanted to, you wouldn't have watched and waited. You wouldn't have listened to what I had to say."</p><p>He stopped at the foot of the broken goat and knelt once more to meet eyes with the beast. There he saw, traced in the lantern light, the true shape of the lycanthrope – its ears drawn back and its tail hovering low to the ground.</p><p>"You're afraid," he realized.</p><p>There was a loud howling of laughter and the body of the beast shook with it. The birds in the nearby trees startled and took wing.</p><p>
  <b> <em>AFRAID OF YOU? DON’T MAKE ME LAUGH. WHY SHOULD I BE AFRAID OF YOU? YOU ARE NO HUNTER. YOU CAST YOUR WEAPON ASIDE. YOU CLAIM TO BE CALLED TO THE HUNT, BUT THE MOMENT YOU BECOME THE HUNTED, YOU ARE THE FIRST TO RUN. </em> </b>
</p><p>Basch felt the words spear his heart. “No, that isn’t true…”</p><p>
  <b> <em>IT IS TRUE! YOU CALL YOURSELF A HUNTER WHEN YOU WON’T FACE YOUR OWN BATTLES? YOU ARE NOTHING BUT A COWARD WHO RUNS AWAY.</em> </b>
</p><p>“All I’ve ever <em> done </em> is battle,” Basch cried out loud, “I fought so hard to be wanted, To be <em> liked</em>. And I know you feel the same.”</p><p>
  <b> <em>WANTED? LIKED? HAH! I AM MORE THAN CAPABLE OF TEARING THEM ALL LIMB FROM LIMB. THEIR WORDS MEAN NOTHING TO ME. I AM THE FABLED MONSTER THAT STALKS THIS VILLAGE, AND THAT IS ENOUGH.</em> </b>
</p><p>"But you aren't," Basch insisted, but was cut off once more by the snarling of the beast:</p><p>
  <b> <em>I AM THE ONE THEY DREAD TO SEE IN THE DARK. I AM THE ONE THEY GLIMPSE IN THE CORNER OF THEIR EYE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. I AM THE WHISPERS IN THE CROWD, THE SHAPE THE CHILDREN SEE IN THE SHADOWS THAT FEEDS THEIR CRIES. THE PEOPLE OF THE VILLAGE KNOW TO FEAR ME.</em> </b>
</p><p>"Because they don't understand you," Basch argued.</p><p>
  <b> <em>I WILL NEVER BE SATED JUST EATING THEIR LIVESTOCK. THAT IS WHY THEY SENT FOR YOU. AND NOW YOU REFUSE TO RETRIEVE YOUR WEAPON. </em> </b>
</p><p>"I was never sent by them," he argued, even as it summoned up the nerve to circle him. "You were the one who called me here."</p><p>
  <b> <em>THEN YOU MUST KNOW BETTER THAN ANY WHY THAT IS. I AM A MAD DOG. I MUST BE PUT DOWN. I AM A MONSTER THAT MUST DIE, AND YOU HAVE ACCEPTED THE TASK BY ANSWERING THE CALL.</em> </b>
</p><p>"Then I abandon the hunt." As Basch delcared this, he could feel the tail of the lycan against his back as it let out yet another cruel, earth-shaking laugh.</p><p>
  <b> <em>FOOL. THE VILLAGE IS MISSING THEIR LITTLE MAID. HOW MANY MORE MUST DIE? HOW MUCH BLOOD WOULD YOU HAVE ON YOUR HANDS BECAUSE YOU ABANDONED THE HUNT HERE?</em> </b>
</p><p>In the lantern's light he could now see the hulking body of the beast, all dark colored fur and large paws, large teeth threatening to snap at his neck and moving quickly.</p><p>He straightened his back and planted his feet. He spoke louder with a trembling voice: "We are alike, you and I. Always hiding in the woods and living off of whatever we can, however we can. The village has not been kind to us, because of who we are. You’re right – I am a coward for only wanting to curry their favor."</p><p>He kept his eyes forward, even as the beast's footfalls came from all around him, even as its terrifying breath came hotly at the back of his neck.</p><p>
  <b> <em>SO WHY DO YOU NOT KILL ME TO GAIN BACK THEIR FAVOR?</em> </b>
</p><p>"Because that little girl never went missing.”</p><p>
  <b><em>SHE HAS BEEN DEVOURED BY ME.</em> </b>
</p><p>Basch shook his head. “I find that hard to believe.”</p><p>
  <b> <em>THEN WHAT BECAME OF HER?</em> </b>
</p><p>He turned to face the jaws of the beast fully. There was not a trace of bravery or hardness in his face, but pity. The rifle lay uselessly between the two of them.</p><p>Basch only held out his hands, entreating. His voice, in resignation, quietly concluded: “She ran away. The village never understood her, either."</p><p>The forest fell in a hush. Basch looked into the eye of the beast standing before him. The lycan seemed affected by what he had said. It began to step away from him, it’s voice low and rattling.</p><p>
  <b> <em>NO! YOU’RE WRONG!</em> </b>
</p><p>“It’s a hard and ugly path that you walk,” he continued, taking one step toward the lycan as it took one step back. “At the end, though, you'll come to be at peace with yourself."</p><p>The lycan began to whimper, shrinking further and further into a tight ball.</p><p>"<em>They</em> are the ones who told you who you were." Basch stopped before it. "<em>You</em> are the one who made it so. And you can change that.”</p><p>
  <b> <em>PLEASE! NO MORE!</em> </b>
</p><p>Basch placed his hand upon the head of the beast, quieting it of its growls and whines.</p><p>He said it again. "You are not a monster."</p><p>It seemed as though a spell had suddenly come undone. The lycan collapsed with an unearthly howl and seemed to sink into the shadows outside the lantern’s glow. Basch quickly doubled back into the blackness of night to his tent, where he gathered his various furs and cloths.</p><p>By the time he came back to the clearing, the beast was gone - and in its place laid a young girl. She sat huddled by the lantern, naked and sobbing softly, her unevenly cut flaxen hair matted with dirt and twigs. She rubbed desperately at the goat’s blood smeared over her face and body in an attempt to cleanse herself.</p><p>Basch covered her with his furs and sat beside her. "Elise."</p><p>Upon hearing her name, her sobs grew heavier. She looked frantic, embarrassed, and held herself tighter. She dared not look him in the eye, even after he had spoken her name.</p><p>"I never meant to kill! I never meant to hurt anyone! I never meant for any of this…!"</p><p>Without another word, Basch brought her tightly into his arms. She trembled and wept loudly into his shoulder, her arms clinging tightly to him. He held her there in that clearing and wiped the blood from her body with the cloths he’d brought. He could see it in her eyes when they first stumbled upon each other in that clearing, that same loneliness and fear that he had felt when he first left the village. The same way he imagined he looked when he saw the houses over the crest of the hill for the last time in years. He had hunted in a similar, desperate way.</p><p>"Shhh." He soothed her and rocked her gently. They clung to each other until neither had the faintest idea of who was clinging to whom. Numb from the chill and spent from sobbing, Basch carried the girl back to his tent for warmth and comfort.</p><hr/><p>In an unusual turn of events, the hunter returned to the village the following morning. There was a light misting of rain, which is  He had not come to sell more of his goods, but to bring the young maid back to her master and mistress.</p><p>It would not be a welcome home. It would be a parting.</p><p>Roderich and Erzsébet were already outside - Roderich was busying himself with removing the wolf's bane from the threshold, and Erzsébet had been tending the chickens when Basch arrived with Elise in tow. Upon seeing the girl unharmed, she dropped her bucket of chicken feed and ran to them.</p><p>"Elise! Oh thank the gods!" She held her tightly and Elise allowed herself to melt into the embrace. The two women sank together in the wet grass, holding each other and weeping. Erzsébet began to examine her for any cuts and bruises, and made a fuss about the state of her hair. The fretting was met with soft laughter from the shy Elise, and she was helped inside with the promise of a proper haircut.</p><p>As they filed into the house, Roderich looked to Basch. A weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and it seemed as though the smile he wore was the first in a long time. Basch dismounted and tied up his horse at their gate. He had been careful to avoid Roderich, though part of him wished to return that smile.</p><p>"Thank you for what you did," Roderich said at last.</p><p>"Don't thank me yet."</p><p>Basch shoved his hands into his pockets and looked somewhere far over Roderich’s shoulder. At that moment, he had been thinking of the right words to use - all words and sentiments old and new. Looking directly at the man would surely make him forget which ones. With so much left unsaid, perhaps it would be better to say what was needed than what he had wanted.</p><p>“Elise. She was the lycan,” he admitted tersely. He hadn’t bothered to gauge the reaction, but noticed how unmoved Roderich had been in his peripheral.</p><p>“And I see you spared her life.”</p><p>Basch nodded solemnly.</p><p>“Why?” Roderich asked, his voice pitched soft in case any passersby would think to overhear, "why spare her? She could do it again. Next time, it could be one of the villagers."</p><p>The wind stirred their hair and clothes, sending a chill through them both. Basch shrugged. “Lycanthropy can be cured, though the effectiveness of it can vary. Some choose to become the beast. Some are born into it. Until I know for sure which it is, I can’t let her be hunted.”</p><p>They stood there in a tense silence. The distant shouting and laughter of children seemed almost to be a murmur - a life that once long ago, they had lived. Roderich shuddered in the wind and pulled his coat a little tighter over himself.</p><p>“She is choosing to stay with me.” Basch’s tone was final. “Until we know for sure which it is. Whatever she decides.”</p><p>Roderich faced him fully. “And what will <em> you </em> decide, then?”</p><p>He took Basch by the arms and held him there with a slight, insistent shake. There was something more desperate in him than when he was searching for answers about Elise. He craned his head, trying desperately to look Basch in the eye. “Come home. You belong here in the village. It is too dangerous to live out there.”</p><p>Basch stiffened and kept his eyes to his feet.</p><p>"<em>Please</em>," Roderich implored quietly.</p><p>It had proven hard to pretend this invitation did not entice him, harder still to pretend that the one inviting him back was not moreso. He gritted his teeth and balled his fists at his sides, unable to bring himself to answer.</p><p>Before Roderich could get another word in, Erzsébet and Elise slowly stepped back outside. Basch lifted his gaze to Elise - her hair had been given an even haircut, short and bobbed much like his own. Strange how he'd only just met her the night before, at her most beastly, and yet he had quickly begun to take such a kinship with her. With her light blonde hair and bright blue-green eyes, one might even mistake them for blood siblings at a first glance.</p><p>With her suitcase in hand, Elise quietly thanked her mistress with a hug before approaching the two men. She looked up to Roderich first with a polite smile and a curtsey.</p><p>“It will be okay. Brother Basch will take good care of me out there and we promise to visit when the moon is small. Please take good care of Lady Erzsébet while I am gone.”</p><p>Roderich glanced from her to Erzsébet, who smiled in encouragement, then back down to Elise. He held out his hand and she took it for one solid shake. “It’s a promise.”</p><p>Having gently eased her up onto his horse, Basch gave a nod to the both of them and left. He hadn’t needed to make the same promise. It was only a month. He would return to the village, leave, and return again. The new sensation of Elise’s warm little hands around his waist reminded him that he would not be alone in these travels anymore.</p><p>The thought truly made him wonder if he could decide it for himself, too - to stay a beast among beasts, or to return to a point where he was neither beast nor monster, but a man.</p><p>He wondered to himself, as he had countless times: was such a choice possible?</p>
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